


Consumer Goods

by neveralarch



Series: Banners from the Turrets [13]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dehumanization, Dom/sub, Hand Feeding, Human Furniture, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Subspace, cock stepping, putting your boyfriend on his knees and feeding him plastic bc you love him, this is a nonsense pwp and you don't need to read the rest of the series to read it i think, uhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21875524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: Eating plastic is bad for you. Starscream's perfectly aware of that. But it tastes very, very good, and Rung doesn't like seeing Starscream deny himself such a small pleasure.
Relationships: Megatron/Rung/Starscream
Series: Banners from the Turrets [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1265390
Comments: 32
Kudos: 105





	Consumer Goods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Desilite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desilite/gifts).



> This fic contains a lot of descriptions of eating things that aren't really food, negotiated dom/sub, dehumanization/play at being an object, light cock torture (stepping), and non-explicit minor medical procedures. Let me know if you want details. An explanation for why this exists is in the endnotes, if you want it.

Organic cultures were obviously vastly inferior to the burnt-out glory of Cybertron, but there was a reason why Starscream supported so many interplanetary trade agreements. Yes, Cybertron needed to make deals in order to revive its economy, and yes, Cybertron needed building materials and basic technologies to restore its society. More important, however, were the… consumer goods. 

Starscream rolled one of the expensive imported styrofoam packing peanuts between his fingers, feeling it squash gently. This morning they had protected a delicate glass sculpture of himself, gifted to him by a group of minicon rights lobbyists. The sculpture was currently in pride of place on Starscream’s desk, but the packing peanuts had come home with him so they could be properly appreciated. You couldn't _digest_ styrofoam or any other form of plastic but you could—

Starscream looked over to make sure the door to his room was still shut and Rung hadn’t snuck inside, then gently slipped the packing peanut into his mouth.

It was Rung's fault that he was doing this, anyway. Rung was the one who'd caught Starscream using boosters—not even the _hard_ stuff, just a bit of extra energy to get through the long legislative sessions. It was Rung who'd gone all quiet and _sad_ until Starscream promised that he wouldn't touch his little helpers anymore. It was Rung who was to blame for Starscream's shaking hands and the processor ache that only a good packing peanut could soothe.

It was also Rung who’d probably give Starscream a seven-hour lecture about how ‘energon tanks are for energon’ if he saw Starscream eating plastic, which is why this nasty habit stayed in Starscream’s room and would not spread to the rest of the apartment. However tempting it might be. 

It was criminal that something so delicious could also be inedible. And the way it _squeaked_ between his teeth—Starscream covered his mouth to muffle a moan, relishing the way the styrofoam squashed against his tongue. He chewed until it was nothing but little fragments of plastic, almost dissolving in a final flare of sweet tangy flavor.

Then he grabbed a fistful of packing peanuts from his subspace and shoved all of them into his mouth at once. _Primus_ they were good. He’d eat just a few more, and then he’d go have dinner with Rung and Megatron. Just a few more.

\---

Rung arched his back, lightly sliding his own valve against Starscream's dripping one, venting hard as the movement glanced against his external node. He fought to keep moving slowly, despite Starscream’s squirming attempts to force a harder, faster grind. Rung wanted to take his time reducing Starscream into a beautiful compliant puddle of satisfaction. Starscream was halfway there already, both hands pressed over his optics as he whined high in his throat.

It was odd that Starscream hadn't said anything yet. He loved and hated being edged like this to an almost equal degree, and was usually vocal with both his curses and his praises. But he was close-lipped as he arched upwards, trying to press more firmly against Rung's own valve. And there was also—

Rung stopped moving entirely, cocking his helm as he tried to pin down the noise. It sounded oddly… wet. And squeaky.

"Is there something wrong with the berth?" Rung pushed himself up on his elbows and rocked against the berth experimentally, but no squeaking emerged. He didn't think they'd been _rambunctious_ , but Starscream was fully capable of destroying furniture when he got worked up.

Starscream petulantly kicked his heel against Rung's side. He still didn’t say anything, just pressed his mouth into a frustrated line and worked his jaw. There was another squeaking noise.

"Starscream?" Rung sat up fully, coincidentally pressing his thigh along the length of Starscream's valve.

Starscream moaned, dropping one hand from his optics to his mouth to cover it.

"Starscream," said Rung, "what have you got in your mouth?"

"Nothing," said Starscream, but he said it with his hand still shielding his mouth from sight.

"It's making _noise_." Rung tried to pry Starscream's hand up. "Just let me—"

Starscream tried to pull his head away without dislodging Rung's thigh, and somehow managed to elbow Megatron in the side, even though Megatron was sitting on the very edge of the berth, his back leaned against the headboard.

Megatron sighed and set down his datapad, looking disdainfully at his partners from over his reading glasses. "It's one of those disgusting organic things," he said. "He's been eating them all week."

"Starscream, are you eating an _alien_?" Rung flinched back. "While we're having _sex_?"

"No!” Starscream raised the hand over his optics to reveal his innocent and injured gaze. “It's—it’s nothing!" 

“It’s clearly something,” said Rung, but he let himself relax back onto Starscream’s chest. “Darling. Please.”

Starscream fidgeted and groaned and then finally relented and spat the thing out into his palm for Rung's inspection. "I know I'm not supposed to be eating them," he said defensively. "But. But, I. I _wanted_ to."

Rung looked down at the bit sodden, mangled styrofoam.

"His tank is probably full of them," said Megatron, judgmentally.

“I don’t want a lecture,” grumbled Starscream. “I _said_ , I _know_.”

Rung also knew that plastic was unhealthy for any mechanical life. Ratchet was always complaining about the 'idiots' who cluttered the hospital, waiting to have their tanks pumped. At least it was a simple—if somewhat gruesome—procedure for most standard frametypes. Plastic melted when it contacted with energon in the tank, but only into sticky sludge that slowly coated the tank until it took up all the available space and sent urgent error readings to the HUD. Rung _should_ scold Starscream and show him some disturbing diagrams of the consequences of his actions. This is your tank. This is your tank filled with plastic bags.

Rung looked up into Starscream's irritated, bitter, and _vulnerable_ optics. "This is something you enjoy?"

Starscream bit his lip. "Enjoy is, is a strong word—it’s just, it’s satisfying—"

Rung began to slide his thigh, up and down, grinding against Starscream's valve. "And you're interested in incorporating plastic into sexual play?"

Starscream's optics widened. 

"Would you like to be hand-fed?" asked Rung. It was so much easier to lose himself in the joy of it, rather than badger Starscream into being responsible. "Would you like me to press little shreds of styrofoam past your lips, one by one? Would you like me to feed you until your tank is filled, and you can't swallow anything else without errors on your HUD and your spike is aching to be allowed to come?"

Starscream made a little broken noise not unlike the squeaking of styrofoam and nodded fervently.

Megatron groaned in an entirely unsexy way. "I cannot believe that you're sexualizing _plastic_. This is going to end with me carrying Starscream to the ER while he purges down my back."

"I could clean Starscream's tank here, at home." Rung stroked down Starscream's cockpit to the slight swell where Starscream's tank rested. Ratchet wouldn’t be happy, but Ratchet needn’t be informed. "It's perfectly safe. A job for a nurse. I already have the screwdrivers, and I can pick up a few clamps from work."

Megatron gagged and made a show of burying himself in his datapad, but Starscream claimed Rung’s attention by shuddering and baring his throat.

"Please," said Starscream, his optics glazed and his thighs flexing against Rung’s hips. "I, I want to—"

"I don't think we should do anything tonight," said Rung, thoughtfully. "I'll need to make some preparations, and I think we should discuss this in detail when you're a little calmer."

"Please," begged Starscream. "I want to overload, please, will you let me, please—"

"Shh," murmured Rung. He’d almost forgotten that he had Starscream worked up already, needing satisfaction _now_ and not sometime later this week. "Don’t worry, you’re all right. Just lie back and let me take care of you. I'll give you want you want."

Starscream relaxed onto the berth, his knees falling open and his vents flaring wide as he panted for air. Rung stroked his thigh against Starscream’s valve again and again, curling forward to kiss Starscream's belly and whisper promises to it until Starscream moaned and stretched his hands out over his head, fingers splayed wide and searching for something to hold. Megatron didn't look up from his datapad again, but he caught one of Starscream's grasping hands and held it tight as Starscream shuddered and fell apart.

Anything. In that long, glistening moment, Rung would give either of them anything they asked for. 

\---

The tile of the kitchen floor was cold under Starscream's knees. Rung should've sprung for the heated tile when the apartment was being rebuilt. Starscream would've paid for it if Rung didn't have the cash—or at least he would’ve bullied the Constructicons into putting it in at a discount. Too late now. Starscream folded his hands together in his lap and waited, trying not to pick at his paint. 

"Just another moment," said Rung, hovering over him solicitously. Like he was worried Starscream might decide to just walk away, even though they’d wasted _hours_ planning this. "Megatron's just on his way back from the mailroom. You can be patient for me, can’t you? My lovely boy."

Starscream tried out a sneer, but it didn't feel right on his face. It slid off, leaving him blank and empty for whatever Rung chose to give him.

"Oh, darling." Rung bent forward to cup Starscream's cheeks. "Don't be nervous. This is for you, remember. Everything will be just as we discussed. Just what you wanted."

Starscream let himself lean into Rung's hands, just a little. "I didn’t want to wait."

“I know you don’t want to wait,” said Rung. “But Megatron’s in the elevator now, and—”

“He’s probably stalling,” grumbled Starscream. “He didn’t want to do this in the first place.”

"Starscream," said Rung, reprovingly, "recycling bins don't talk back."

Starscream scowled, but he didn't say anything else. 

"They don't scowl, either," said Rung. "Give us a smile?"

Starscream had never seen a recycling bin smile—they weren't _alive_ , no one had a recycling bin altmode. There wasn't enough room in them to store your internal mechanisms, it wasn't the same as a trash compactor.

Rung squeezed Starscream’s cheeks, drawing them up and stretching Starscream’s lips into something that probably looked like a smile. Starscream didn’t shake Rung off, because Rung looked _so_ pleased with himself, and his hands were warm, and also recycling bins didn’t squirm away from their partners.

The elevator dinged. Rung didn’t look around, just kept gazing into Starscream’s optics with that silly little smile.

Recycling bins didn’t get impatient.

Megatron walked through the kitchen doorway and thumped a box onto the counter. "Did Starscream change his mind?" he asked. "Can we call off this farce?"

Starscream pinged an emphatic _no_ to their shared comm frequency. He'd been _promised_.

Megatron pinged back a curt acknowledgment and found something else to complain about. "I cannot believe you bought a whole case of these imported coolants for your interface games."

"Not _just_ for our games.” Rung finally released Starscream’s face, leaving him oddly chilled as Rung turned to talk to Megatron. "I've heard they're very good. Very trendy. Optimus tells me that he's always being offered organic coolant at parties."

"That's even worse," said Megatron. "That means you're imitating the resurging infection of the aristocracy in their attempts to impress the Prime with waste and excess."

"Well, it's my money," said Rung. His smile at Megatron was warm, but there was a hint of steel there. "If you're going to fuss, you're welcome to go elsewhere until we're done."

Megatron grunted, but he didn't leave. Starscream watched him for a few moments to make sure, but Megatron didn't even argue, just stood there with his hip leaning against the counter and his arms crossed against his broad chest. Putty in Rung's hands. It was almost comical.

"Now then." Rung turned his attention back on Starscream. "Optics off and spike out, darling."

Starscream shut down his optics. They tried to flicker online a few times, but Starscream took deep vents and reminded himself that he was _home_ and _safe_ and that Megatron would tear any would-be assassins to pieces if needed. Darkness finally fell, and his HUD quieted to a small trickle of status updates without its primary sensory input to categorize.

It took a little more effort to pressurize his spike. Starscream wasn't aroused yet, even though he planned to be soon. He could feel an odd nervousness clawing up through his tank, and stray bytes of data in his processor told him that he looked ridiculous enough already, that he'd look even more ridiculous kneeling in a corner of their kitchen with his spike standing to attention.

"Do you need help?" asked Rung. "We want to see that spike, don't we?"

"It's a nice spike," said Megatron. _Well_ , he would know, wouldn't he? Starscream pressurized a bit as he remembered the last time Megatron had put his mouth on him, worshipping Starscream's spike with long wet licks until he took the head in his mouth and—

Rung pinged a query. Starscream distractedly pinged confirmation, then twitched as he felt warm clever fingers wrap around his spike and coax it to full extension. Rung's hand lingered a moment more than was strictly necessary, pulling Starscream to the edge of desperation, then moved away. Starscream ruthlessly forced himself not to arch after the contact. Recycling bins didn't beg to be jerked off.

"Beautiful," murmured Rung. "Hands behind your back."

Starscream followed instructions, lacing his fingers together and gripping them tight to keep them there. 

"If you say stop, we will stop," said Rung. "If you comm stop, we will stop. If your hands come away from your back, we'll stop. If we send you a query, we'll wait for you to confirm before we keep going, and otherwise we'll stop. It doesn't have to be a full stop, it can be a pause, but we won't do anything more until you give me a confirmation ping. Understood?"

Starscream nodded. This part wasn’t new, and anyway they’d already talked about it. _When_ would they get to the _fun part_?

"Give me a ping, darling, that's what I want."

Starscream sent a confirmation ping and got acknowledgments back from both Rung and Megatron. He felt a little bloom of satisfaction at having followed instructions, and his processor twisted uncomfortably. So silly to be so pleased at doing something so easy. As if that was all he was capable of. As if he deserved to be praised for doing the bare minimum.

"Good," said Rung. "You’re being very good. So quiet and still. Isn’t he a good recycling bin, Megatron?” 

“He’s very immobile,” agreed Megatron, sounding bored.

The warmth of Rung's presence moved away, and Starscream fought to keep his spike pressurized without anyone to touch him or to talk to him. But of course they wouldn't talk to him. He was a recycling bin. A recycling bin. Recycling bins didn't feel bad, they didn't need constant affirmation and attention, they were self-sufficient. They just _sat_ there.

The tile was cold.

"Can you open the box for me, dear?" asked Rung.

Megatron grunted. Starscream wanted to turn on his optics and watch, but recycling bins didn't stare at you. They didn't anticipate. They just sat and waited to be used.

"There's so much packaging in these imported items," said Rung. "It seems so wasteful."

"You can... recycle it," said Megatron stiffly.

Starscream suppressed a sigh at Megatron's congenital inability to play along. Recycling bins didn't criticize their partners who were _supposed_ to be theater professionals.

"What a good idea," said Rung. "What a perfect use for our new recycling bin."

Starscream felt Rung approach, and then felt Rung's foot pressing his spike down. Starscream remembered just a second too late that this was the signal for his mouth open and belatedly let his jaw drop.

"Hmm, the bin seems a bit sticky today." Rung raised his foot and lowered it again, repeating the motion until Starscream's mouth was reliably in sync with his spike. "Ah, there we are. It just needed a little workout."

Starscream didn’t whimper. Rung’s foot was warm on top of his spike, holding it down against the cold tile.

Suddenly there was plastic in Starscream's mouth, a thick wad of flavor on his tongue. Starscream had looked up what was in plastic once and it was _disgusting_ , the remains of organics liquefied and pickled under pressure for millennia until it was distilled into solid lumps and flexible sheets. But it tasted _so_ good.

Rung released Starscream's spike and Starscream's mouth closed. Something popped under his teeth, and he realized he'd been given bubblewrap. He chewed, feeling air burst in his mouth, and his teeth caught on the oddly clingy texture and tore it to shreds. He kept chewing until all the bubbles had broken and the wad was more holes than anything else. Then he swallowed, barely restraining himself from opening his mouth to beg for more. 

Recycling bins were content with what they were given.

He didn't have to wait for long. Rung pressed down on Starscream's spike and fed him another thick wad of bubblewrap. When Starscream was done with that there was a third wad, and the fizzing feeling of plastic melting in his tank. His HUD flashed a warning about foreign contaminants.

"That's all the packaging, isn't it?" Rung moved away again. "Let's break open one of these bottles and see what all the excitement is about."

There was a glugging noise as coolant was poured out of its plastic bottle.

"These don't hold very much, do they?" Rung sounded disappointed.

"Frivolous novelties," said Megatron, because he was a killjoy who only spent money on furniture and actors. "You could've bought fifteen _drums_ of coolant for the same price, and it would fill your tank just as well."

"Well, most organics are much smaller than us," said Rung. "It’s the gravity or the mitochondria or something. I imagine they think these bottles are enormous. And it tastes nice, doesn't it? Better than the stuff we had during the war."

"Mm. Not a high bar to clear."

Rung stepped on Starscream's spike again, and this time Starscream's mouth opened more or less automatically, ready and waiting for his treat. He felt something pliable press against his lips, but it just rested there, not pushing in. Starscream whined. Recycling bins weren't supposed to whine, but—

"Oh, I don't know if this will fit in the bin!" Rung pressed down on Starscream's spike a little more firmly, almost mashing it against the tile, and Starscream opened his mouth as wide as it could stretch. The thick round end of the bottle only barely fit between his lips. It felt like he was sucking a shuttle's spike, or it would have if shuttles were made of sweet tangy plastic or if their spikes crumpled when he was allowed to close his jaws down on them. The bottle took a little more work to chew, and it only crunched instead of shredding like the bubblewrap. Starscream ground it between his back teeth, feeling the bottle crinkle and spring back into shape. Once it was at least crushed enough to fit in his throat, Starscream manually switched off his gag reflex and tilted his helm back to let the bottle slide down his intake and into his tank.

Eating plastic was such a _unique_ sensation, the way your tank filled only briefly before the plastic melted down. Starscream forced himself not to squirm, even as the energon in his tank bubbled as it reacted to the heavier plastic in the bottle

He'd lost track of time as he gnawed on the bottle, but he didn't check his chronometer. Recycling bins didn't care if they'd spent too long eating something. They didn't worry if their partners had gotten bored.

Nothing happened for a few long moments. Starscream couldn’t feel Rung near him, and he couldn’t hear any talking. He almost, almost onlined his optics, but then he heard the crack of another bottle opening and the glug of liquid being decanted.

"Each bottle has a different mineral flavor," said Rung. "Here, try this one."

"It tastes the same," said Megatron.

"Oh, it does not." There was a gurgle as more was poured from the bottle, and then Rung was pressing down on Starscream's spike again. Rung pushed the bottle into Starscream's mouth agonizingly slowly, letting Starscream feel the strain in his jaw and his lips, until Rung finally let him crunch the bottle down. 

"That's it," murmured Rung, and his hand caressed over Starscream's helm.

"Are we going to try _all_ of these solvents?" asked Megatron.

Starscream felt himself throb at the thought as he dismissed another contaminant warning on his HUD. They would be here for hours. How many bottles were in that box?

"That sounds fun," said Rung, lightly. His heel nudged Starscream's spike as he turned away. "Here, let me show you what else I bought." There was a crinkle of plastic wrap, and then Megatron grunted.

"Don't be so difficult," said Rung. "You said these were your favorite when we tried them at the hotel."

"I _said_ they weren't the worst thing I'd ever eaten," said Megatron.

"Just take an energon sweet," said Rung. There was another crinkle, and Megatron grunted again, a little more appreciatively this time.

"I don't know why they wrap each of these individually," said Rung. 

"Do you want me to explain how inefficiency supports the ruling class _again_?" asked Megatron.

"No, no," said Rung. "But I didn't think you knew anything about organics. Maybe they don't have a ruling class."

"Everyone has a ruling class," said Megatron.

Starscream didn't sigh. Recycling bins didn't care if their partners got _distracted_ talking about _political theory_.

His herculean forbearance was rewarded. Rung pressed down on Starscream's spike again, and Starscream found himself with a mouthful of plastic wrap and candy wrappers.

"I don't think you can even recycle those," said Megatron, but Starscream was too busy enjoying the crinkle and crackle under his teeth to worry about whether they were being accurate. His tank was heating inside of him as the energon reaction turned the plastic back into its petroleum sludge base. His valve felt warm too, which was odd since there was nothing _in_ it, and the only thing touching it was the cold tile floor. His spike was almost vibrating where Rung was pressing on it lightly, not pushing down, not yet, but ready to open his recycling bin again.

"I'm sure it's fine," said Rung, but a query ping appeared in Starscream's comm. Starscream pinged back confirmation, maybe a little bit too eagerly.

"Open the next bottle," said Rung, and pressed down on Starscream's spike again to feed him another candy-wrapper.

Rung fed Starscream the next bottle slowly, pressing it in until it was flush against Starscream's intake, then pulling it back again. Starscream suppressed a whine. Recycling bins didn't have opinions about how the plastic was recycled.

"How is the new play going?" asked Rung.

Megatron huffed. "Sixshot is refusing direction. He claims to be a method actor, and that _he_ understands the character better than _I_. I think he's bored and wants an excuse to act like a feral mechanimal."

"Well, what is he method acting?" asked Rung.

"A cyberwolf," said Megatron. "We're performing _The Rescue from the Oil Well_."

"At least he has the form for it," said Rung. "One of the forms, anyway." He pressed the bottle back into Starscream's mouth again, but his foot kept Starscream's mouth stretched open around it, unable to close. Starscream could feel oral solvent running down his chin and spattering on his knees and on the floor. He shuddered, and his valve pulsed and ached. For a moment Starscream felt his world narrow down to his mouth and the bottle, his hearing glitching out, the cold of the tile receding, his frame nothing but a vessel.

Rung finally released Starscream and the world snapped back into focus as he crunched the bottle down. Starscream could feel the tracks of drool drying on his chin and chest, but recycling bins didn't care if they got a little messy. Starscream swallowed, and Rung stepped on Starscream's spike again almost immediately to feed him another candy wrapper.

"Here, look at what Sixshot did yesterday," said Megatron. "Do you see those scratches?"

Rung hummed. "Very painful. We'll have to buff those out."

"They're not painful, they're embarrassing," grumbled Megatron. "They'll probably need to be filled."

"Here, let me see," said Rung, and suddenly the wrapper he'd been putting on Starscream's tongue was _gone_. Rung was still putting weight on Starscream's spike, so Starscream's mouth was still open. Solvent began to gather at the corners of his mouth.

"Would you like me to kiss it better?" asked Rung.

"Only if you have magical healing properties," said Megatron.

A few drips of solvent escaped Starscream's mouth. His tank fizzed, spreading warmth through his whole frame.

"You never know," said Rung, husky and amused. "I just might. How does that feel?"

"Hmm," said Megatron. "You know, I think he punched me in the face too. Perhaps you could give me another dose?"

Rung laughed, and then there was a muffled noise as Megatron presumably got his wish.

Starscream sat there, empty and open. There was a fuzzy static buzzing from his audials to his processor, everything turning syrupy and slow. He felt less like he was leaving his frame this time, more like he was sinking into it. Drool was running down his chin and onto his cockpit, and he could feel his valve leaking onto the tile.

"You're enjoying this," said Rung.

"I'm enjoying _you_ ," said Megatron.

"You don't normally get half-pressurized just from kissing," teased Rung. "I can see your panel denting."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Megatron. "I—"

The conversation dissolved into the static. Starscream slumped a little, feeling his processor melt down into nothing but the drip of oral solvent and lubricant, and the pumping rush of energon in his lines. 

He didn't have to _think_.

At some point Rung moved away and the recycling bin closed again. There were happy voices saying complicated words. The recycling bin just sat there like a good object, waiting to be used. After a little while, someone opened the recycling bin and rewarded it with a bottle. When it tried to crunch it down, it found that the bottle was full of trapped air, forcing it to gnaw and gnaw until the plastic finally punctured and crumpled. Someone murmured appreciatively, and the recycling bin felt something stroke over its lid.

There was a ping, which the recycling bin ignored, and then another ping, and another, until the recycling bin finally remembered how to ping back. The hand stroked the recycling bin's lid again, and then the recycling bin was opened as someone fed it a few packing peanuts. They squeaked between the recycling bin's teeth and shredded into easily swallowed pieces. The recycling bin loved them. It loved being _used_ , it was so lucky to have people who would use it properly.

The recycling bin's holding tank was becoming full and heavy, pressing down against its hungry wet valve and the base of its aching spike. The recycling bin liked the way it felt. Like pleasure was radiating out from its tank, out and out and out.

The recycling bin was opened again and someone gave it a plastic bag, light and airy like the asbestos floss real mechs could buy at amusement fairs. The recycling bin didn't even have to chew, it could just roll the bag under and over its tongue and swallow it down whole. There was a larger, heavier hand rubbing over the recycling bin's lid now, a larger, heavier foot pressing its spike down. Another bottle was fed in to the recycling bin, this one feeling oddly weighty against the recycling bin’s lower lip. The recycling bin bit into it and felt the solvent rush out, filling its mouth and spilling out faster than it could swallow.

Bright lights flashed in its processor. It was so, so full. It'd have to be emptied before it could take any more, it would have to be.

There was another ping. This time the recycling bin remembered that it needed to respond, but it couldn't remember how. It started to panic when it realized that the real mechs would stop if it didn’t ping back. It didn’t _want_ to stop. 

"Shh," said someone, and there were so many hands rubbing over the recycling bin's lid. "Shhhh."

The recycling bin took a hiccuping vent and finally found the correct relay to send the confirmation ping. Five times in a row, just in case. Someone above him chuckled. No one made the recycling bin stop doing its job.

More plastic bags and packing peanuts. Even these little light things took an effort to swallow when the recycling bin was already so full. They hardly even seemed to dissolve in its holding tank. There was probably more plastic there than energon now, plastic piling up on itself. The recycling bin sobbed when another bottle was pressed against its mouth, but it kept its jaws open even as more bright incomprehensible warnings flashed in its processor.

This time it wasn't allowed to close its mouth at all. The bottle had been crushed a little already to make it fit down its throat, and it was just pressed down slowly, slowly, until the bottle was down the recycling bin's tubing and resting at the very top of its tank.

The recycling bin felt something curl and tighten in its gut.

Someone pinged it, and the recycling bin didn't ping back. This was too much. It was just barely enough.

Hands on its lid. Hands on its wings. A crooning, questioning voice. The recycling bin swallowed again, and the plastic in its tank _shifted_ , and the recycling bin's knees spread, giving out underneath it, pressing its valve hard against the cold tile. Its valve fluttered and clenched and fluid spattered against the tile and the recycling bin's own plating as it overloaded just from being so, so full and so, so cared for.

Hands tilting the recycling bin’s face up. Something warm pressing against the recycling bin’s back. The recycling bin relaxed and let the real mechs do whatever they liked.

\---

Megatron sat in the washracks with his back against the wall and his legs out straight, Starscream cradled between his thighs. He didn't look at where Rung had Starscream's chassis winched open and his tank unhooked from its housing. Perhaps it was hypocrisy to spend a lifetime cutting mechs open in the gladiator ring and on the battlefield, and then to flinch from the sight of basic maintenance performed in the comfort of one's own home. Megatron chose not to linger on it, and kept his optics fixed on Starscream's lax face instead.

Starscream wasn't quite in recharge. His optics were flickering on and off, and his fingers kept flexing where he had one of Megatron's hands gripped between both of his own, cuddled against his cockpit like it belonged to him. But there was an aimless sort of smile on Starscream's lips, and he hadn't spoken a word even when Megatron had picked him up to carry him from the kitchen to the washracks.

He looked very peaceful. Odd, in a creature who so thrived on conflict and unnecessary noise.

"All this over a little plastic," muttered Megatron.

"Not a _little_ plastic." Rung paused in his swabbing. "Looking at the results, I may have gone a little overboard. But Starscream so seemed to be enjoying himself. Did you enjoy yourself, darling? Are you with us?"

Starscream's voicebox clicked a few times, and his hands tightened on Megatron's. Not quite 'with' anything yet.

Megatron snorted. "He's not the only one who enjoyed this." Rung had lit up like a temple of Primus on a festival day, just at the prospect of feeding Starscream processed organic sludge. Megatron had assumed that there would be some sort of spike sucking or valve worship involved in the game, but that had really been it. Just chatting aimlessly in the kitchen and stuffing plastic in Starscream's mouth until Starscream overloaded.

Was _normal_ interfacing really so dull to them, that they had to find new perversions to keep themselves interested?

Rung sat back on his heels to smile up at Megatron. "I think we all had a very good time. You're still half-pressurized, aren't you?"

"A conditioned response," said Megatron, ignoring the throb behind his panel. "Usually your games with Starscream involve at least a pretty tableau, or even some sort of sexual gratification."

"Oh, I think Starscream was very gratified," purred Rung, and stroked a possessive hand over Starscream’s thigh.

Starscream whined, waking up a bit at last and sounding unhappy about it.

"It's all right, it's all quite all right." Rung's tone softened from smugness into comfort. "We're still here. Megatron, would you—"

Megatron sighed and used his free hand up to stroke Starscream's cheek. Starscream stiffened, but then he turned his head and drew two of Megatron's fingers into his mouth. He set his teeth against Megatron's armor, almost but not quite gently, pinpricks against Megatron's sensors.

Megatron was now long familiar with this part of process, even if the means of getting there changed. The slow careful dance of coaxing Starscream back into awareness. Something about Rung and Starscream's play always seemed to leave Starscream as a flickering, yearning thing that spoke only in whines and bursts of static, needy for touch and affection. After an hour or two, Starscream would resurface as a tired and happy but still recognizable version of himself, and after a long recharge he would be just as sharp and sarcastic as ever, with just a hint of loose satisfaction to remind Megatron of what they had done.

Starscream sucked on Megatron's fingers, squirming a little so that his aft rested against Megatron's only _somewhat_ outwardly-dented panel. Starscream didn't seem to be aware of what that friction did to Megatron—he probably just wanted the warmth of Megatron's frame. Megatron forcefully shut down his interface protocols and continued to stroke Starscream's cheek with his thumb. It seemed…nice, to have a helm so empty. To just be a creature of feeling and want. Especially when you had two mechs wrapped around your talons, taking such diligent care of you.

It was almost a shame that Megatron couldn't experience it for himself. It might be easy to send Starscream into that strange empty place with a few soft words, careful touches, and a handful of packing peanuts. But Megatron's processor hadn't stopped whirling since the day he came online. He simply wasn't wired for peace.

"I'm closing you up, darling," said Rung. "Now, you will feel a _small_ pinch."

Megatron pulled his fingers out of Starscream's mouth, ignoring the staticky protest. He wasn't interested in having his fingers bitten off when Starscream felt that pinch.

There was a click, and Starscream tensed and whimpered. Megatron petted Starscream's cheek until he was relaxed again, optics lazy and dim.

"There." Rung peeled off a pair of gloves, coated in the sludgy remains of plastic, and tossed them into the bucket that contained whatever disgusting matter he'd removed from Starscream's tanks. “I need you to fuel a little, Starscream, can you do that for me?”

Starscream grumbled and curled over Megatron’s hand on his cockpit, but he eventually allowed Rung to dribble sips from a cube of sweetened medical grade energon into his mouth. Megatron had to shut down his interface protocols twice more when they tried to come online. Because of what? Starscream’s overdramatic mewling? The warmth of his frame against Megatron’s? The tender focus in Rung’s optics as he dispensed just enough energon to coat Starscream’s tongue?

The cube was half-empty and Megatron hadn’t answered his own questions. Rung set it aside and wiped a stray drop of energon away from Starscream’s lips.

Something in Megatron’s spark ached, and he could hardly shut that down as easily as his interface protocols. He felt a ridiculous urge to ask Rung to conjunx him, even though he already _had_ , and they _were_.

"Shall we move this to a berth?" murmured Rung.

Starscream shook his head and released Megatron’s hand to grab at Rung. Rung, with great forbearance and even eagerness allowed himself not just to be pulled into Starscream's arms but fully on top of Starscream, cuddled tight against Starscream's chest. Rung wrapped his arms around Starscream's neck and looked over Starscream's shoulder to smile at Megatron.

"Looks like we're stuck here for a while," he said.

"It's fine." Megatron shifted slightly, his back aching a little at the unforgiving angle of the wall. His hands dropped down to curl around Starscream’s waist. "It's not the most uncomfortable I've ever been."

Rung laughed. "What are you thinking about? You look so serious."

"It's nothing," said Megatron, but of course Rung couldn't leave well enough alone. He gently poked and prodded and needled until finally in exasperation Megatron said: "I was only thinking that it would be nice to feel empty for once."

"Empty?" asked Rung in confusion.

"You know." Megatron patted Starscream's helm, ignoring Starscream’s half-asleep growl. "The way Starscream gets when you make him kneel for long enough."

"Oh!" said Rung. "Yes, empty. I suppose that’s an accurate description of Starscream’s experience. It’s different for everyone, but—if you _wanted_ to try—my dear, I do think I could do help you find that place in your processor." His expression shifted oddly. Megatron thought for a moment that he was hesitant, then realized that Rung was doing his best not to seem too eager. "I would be honored to help you.”

"Please," said Megatron dismissively. "I'm not interested in eating plastic, or pretending that I'm sick enough to be waited on hand and foot, or letting you inject energon straight into my lines. I'm not nearly as obsessed in food or helplessness as Starscream seems to be."

Starscream twitched and shifted between him, his helm lolling on Megatron's frame and his grip on Rung's frame relaxing. Finally fallen into recharge. Megatron waited a moment but Rung didn't seem ready to get up and go to berth.

"It’s different for everyone,” repeated Rung. “Not only in the way it feels, but what gets you there. I still think I could, _we_ could—if you wanted. Not just because you’re jealous of Starscream, that would only make it difficult, but if you wanted to _try_."

Megatron looked down at his silly little senator. Maybe he was a little jealous. But if this was something they could share? If it was something Rung could give?

An image flashed in Megatron’s processor, of himself kneeling on the floor with his hands bound, Starscream mirroring him, Rung’s hands on their helms, pushing them gently and inexorably into a kiss…

No. No, Megatron wasn't built for this.

Would he let that dictate his actions, his intimacies? With his own conjunx?

Rung was still watching Megatron, with that banked eagerness and a glimmer of hope in his optics.

"I'll think about it," said Megatron. Yes. He’d think until he knew what he wanted to ask for. "There's no harm in trying. Now, isn't it time to get this one to berth?"

Rung smiled, bright and pure, and Megatron was so _lucky_ to have this. Even luckier, that Rung might give him even more.

"Yes," said Rung, and pressed a kiss first to Starscream's throat, then to Megatron's chin before slowly easing himself from Starscream’s arms. "Berth sounds wonderful."

**Author's Note:**

> So Dez and I were talking idly about plastic being an unhealthy transformer snack a la potato chips, and Dez posted about it [on tumblr](https://deadtrilobitesociety.tumblr.com/post/188729436799), a post which Desilite reblogged with the tag #next up in banners from the turrets rung sexually feeds starscream disposable water bottles .
> 
> This led to chaos.
> 
>   
>   
> 
> 
> We talked about sexy plastic eating for an hour and a half until Dez had to tear herself away from her phone and go to bed.
> 
> We were literally in the middle of writing Castle in the Sand at the time but as SOON as it was finished I started writing this nonsense. Desilite, I hope you're happy, our lives have been both enriched and ruined by this horrible new robot kink.
> 
> (If you would like to curse other people, you can share this fic on [tumblr](https://neveralarch.tumblr.com/post/189778884339/consumer-goods-neveralarch-the-transformers), [twitter](https://twitter.com/neveralarch/status/1208113401366548480), or [DW](https://neveralarch.dreamwidth.org/104854.html).)


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